LETTER 7.

London, Oct. 19, 1710.

Faith, I am undone! this paper is larger than the other, and yet I am condemned to a sheet; but, since it is MD, I did not value though I were condemned to a pair.  I told you in my letter to-day where I had been, and how the day passed; and so, etc.

20.  To-day I went to Mr. Lewis, at the Secretary’s office, to know when I might see Mr. Harley; and by and by comes up Mr. Harley himself, and appoints me to dine with him to-morrow.  I dined with Mrs. Vanhomrigh,[1] and went to wait on the two Lady Butlers;[2] but the porter answered they were not at home:  the meaning was, the youngest, Lady Mary, is to be married to-morrow to Lord Ashburnham,[3] the best match now in England, twelve thousand pounds a year, and abundance of money.  Tell me how my “Shower” is liked in Ireland:  I never knew anything pass better here.  I spent the evening with Wortley Montagu[4] and Mr. Addison, over a bottle of Irish wine.  Do they know anything in Ireland of my greatness among the Tories?  Everybody reproaches me of it here; but I value them not.  Have you heard of the verses about the “Rod of Sid Hamet”?  Say nothing of them for your life.  Hardly anybody suspects me for them; only they think nobody but Prior or I could write them.  But I doubt they have not reached you.  There is likewise a ballad full of puns on the Westminster Election,[5] that cost me half an hour:  it runs, though it be good for nothing.  But this is likewise a secret to all but MD.  If you have them not, I will bring them over.

21.  I got MD’s fourth to-day at the Coffee-house.  God Almighty bless poor, dear Stella, and her eyes and head!  What shall we do to cure them? poor, dear life!  Your disorders are a pull-back for your good qualities.  Would to Heaven I were this minute shaving your poor, dear head, either here or there!  Pray do not write, nor read this letter, nor anything else; and I will write plainer for Dingley to read from henceforward, though my pen is apt to ramble when I think whom I am writing to.  I will not answer your letter until I tell you that I dined this day with Mr. Harley, who presented me to the Earl of Stirling,[6] a Scotch lord; and in the evening came in Lord Peterborow.  I stayed till nine before Mr. Harley would let me go, or tell me anything of my affair.  He says the Queen has now granted the First-Fruits and Twentieth Parts; but he will not give me leave to write to the Archbishop, because the Queen designs to signify it to the Bishops in Ireland in form; and to take notice, that it was done upon a memorial from me; which, Mr. Harley tells me he does to make it look more respectful to me, etc.; and I am to see him on Tuesday.  I know not whether I told you that, in my memorial which was given to the Queen, I begged for two thousand pounds a year more, though it was not in my commission;